


Your Case is on My Lap

by Cumberbatch Critter (CumberbatchCritter)



Series: Awkward Boys Being Awkward Boys - Without Slash! [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward boys being awkward boys, F/M, Gen, John and Sherlock talking sex, Sherlock's humanity, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberbatchCritter/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John and Sherlock go to a strip club for a case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Case is on My Lap

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

When John Watson envisioned himself at a strip joint, he didn't imagine that Sherlock Holmes would be right at his side.

Actually, John never thought that his best friend would ever willingly go into a strip club, but he should have known that the consulting detective in question would do anything for a case.

John stood straight, head high. His cheeks were warm. "Sherlock... Sherlock, this whole _club_ is going to think we're a couple."

"Why would they? It's not a homoerotic strip club," Sherlock retorted. "We need to blend in... Do you have any objections to a lap dance?" Without waiting for an answer, he strode into the crowd.

"Sherlock!" Feeling foolish, John strode after him. "Sherlock, we can't just get a lap dance-"

"Why not? That's what men come here for."

"Because..."

To be truthful, John didn't have a reason. He was single, Sherlock was single (and probably always would be), and these women were offering themselves for such purposes. But despite all of his failed attempts at dating, going to a strip club to blow off steam wasn't exactly his idea of a good night out. It just wasn't his style. Not that he'd ever actually _had_ a lap dance or anything, but...

"Don't be such a prude, John, we need to blend in," Sherlock said, before striding up to a group of girls.

They all looked up simultaneously.

"Oh, hey there, tiger," one said, her eyes roving up Sherlock's form. "You're a fine piece of meat there. How can I help _you_?" she said, getting to her feet.

John watched with a red face and raised eyebrows. Sherlock hated dating, didn't seem inclined towards women, and didn't like social situations in general. But he didn't flinch as the woman, nearly his height with a pair of high heeled stilettos on, stepped forward, pressing her well-rounded bosom against his chest.

"That remains to be seen," Sherlock said shortly, eyes flickering to the remaining girls. "You are the one they call Vanilla Spice, are you not?" he asked, eyes intent on one particular blonde.

The blonde popped a bubble in her chewing gum. "That's me. You are?"

"Thinking that my friend needs a good time," Sherlock replied smoothly, transferring his gaze to John.

John flushed impossibly more red. "No, really-" But 'Vanilla Spice' had already gotten to her feet.

"Now, now, hush," Vanilla said, placing her hands on John's forearms. "Don't fight it. Just give into your body's natural desires."

Sherlock gave John a pointed look, although John didn't know what he was hoping to convey. Most likely something about the case; the fact that he had picked the blonde out by name meant that he had special interest in her. For whatever reason.

"Come on, boys. We'll find a room for both of you."

Sherlock went perfectly willingly, but John was absolutely mind-shatteringly embarrassed. He ought to have not been, he realised... seeing if anyone here recognised him, then they had all the same amount of humiliation to be felt. And he deserved this, yeah? He hadn't had any sexual gratification besides jerking off in the shower when Sherlock wasn't home to deduce it, so why shouldn't he get a lap dance and enjoy it?

"Take these clothes off, tiger," Sherlock's stripper was saying. Her fingers hooked around Sherlock's lapels and started guiding his coat away from his lanky frame.

John's view was disrupted then because Vanilla Spice had placed her hand against his own chest and he fell back onto the sofa. She straddled his lap- straight to the point. John swallowed.

"So what brings two finely dressed gentlemen to a place like this?" Sherlock's stripper asked. "Both of you deciding to play a little hard to get? Jumpers and suit jackets? It doesn't fit well with the scene."

"No-" John started, but Sherlock cut him off.

"Oh, well." His deep voice rumbled in contemplation. "We need, oh, how to say it... an _example_."

John was frankly flabberghasted on the change in Sherlock. But he didn't think on it too much as Vanilla gyrated on his lap, bringing all sorts of thoughts and emotions and feeling, mainly ones in his nether regions. He was very quickly getting hard and, irrationally, illogically, and most importantly, stupidly, he wondered if Sherlock was, too.

"Oh? Well, I suppose I could give you a little instruction..."

John peeked over Vanilla's shoulder, watching as Sherlock's playmate danced over his lap. The detective's coat was nowhere to be found and his jacket was slung over the back of the couch. He was slumped against the back of the sofa, his eyes trained on the woman. He seemed interested, but moreover, he seemed... _relaxed_.

John jumped and shifted uncomfortably as something- a thigh, the pressure of fabric, maybe- brushed his erection. He was so far out of his comfort zone that he shouldn't have been allowed to get hard in the first place, but he would have enjoyed this infinitely more if Sherlock wasn't sitting five feet away from him.

"Relax, baby," Vanilla said, leaning forward to speak against his ear.

John shivered and shifted position, trying to find comfort against biological functions that could not be assuaged right now. His eyes locked back on Vanilla's... she had really pretty hazel eyes. Flecked with green. John smiled faintly.

"There we go," Vanilla praised, dipping down low in her dance.

John swallowed a moan and flicked his gaze back to Sherlock. The detective hadn't moved much, but his hands had reached up to settle on the stripper's hips. His eyes were locked on the woman and, in the low lighting, John thought that maybe Sherlock's pupils were dilated. Was Sherlock turned on about all this? John wasn't sure why he-

John's eyes snapped back to Sherlock's stripper when she crawled off of Sherlock's lap. Sherlock's hands fell heavily to his lap, fingers interlacing together over his lap. Was he-

John jumped when Vanilla ground against his hips. "Yes, hello," he said, attention back to her.

She grinned in response and continued the motion.

John left himself relax into the lap dance, focussing on the pivotal points of the woman that was currently straddling his lap. It was only marred by a soft noise, made by none other than Sherlock's baritone, that drew John out of the reverie.

Cursing both the fact that Sherlock was an arse and that he himself hadn't fucked anyone as of late, John peeled his eyes away from Vanilla and looked towards Sherlock.

Sherlock's stripper was no longer on Sherlock's lap, but instead doing a seductive strip tease. John was just about to complain- _where's mine?_ \- when Sherlock lunged forward. Vanilla shrieked; John had no idea what the hell was going on except Sherlock had dragged Vanilla off of John's lap, grabbing at a handful of fabric near her nearly naked hip.

"Sherlock!"

"Got it!" he exclaimed. "Dolphin tattoo!"

"What?" John asked, sitting up straight.

"I knew our perp would be here, working as one of the strippers. I traced the certain glitter powder down to this club and then down to a group of women. I picked the two that were most statistically likely. Call Lestrade," Sherlock said. He looked around at his previous entertainment. "Could I bother you to find a pair of handcuffs around here? I believe that it shouldn't be too much of a problem, given the location." When she didn't move, Sherlock persuaded her on with a smile, leaving John, Sherlock, and a guilty stripper in the private room.

John still hadn't quite recovered, from any of it, really. He didn't know what to say. So, instead, he pulled out his mobile and dialled Lestrade, telling him that they (apparently) had their perp.

Sherlock's eyes, who took the handcuffs another stripper brought him, roamed to John once he had hung up. His head tilted slightly. "Did you want her to finish?" he asked. "We've got ten minutes, at least."

John flushed, impossibly, more red. "No."

Sherlock shrugged and snapped a cuff- which were, surprisingly, _not_ pink and fuzzy- around Vanilla's wrist and the opposite on the chair arm. She wasn't struggling; just looked pissed. John understood the feeling.

Sherlock sank onto the sofa next to John with a great sigh. "Well, that was tedious."

John stared blankly at the curtain. "Tedious? How about unpleasant?"

Sherlock's gaze met John's. "The effect does not seem to be entirely unpleasant."

"Are you talking about me or you?" John asked, only half serious. He knew Sherlock could probably read his own lust in his eyes and body posture, but, asides from dilated pupils, Sherlock didn't look any more debauched than usual.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes briefly, contemplating. "Both, I suppose." He crossed his legs, his hands folding in his lap again. It was easily a dead giveaway.

John raised his eyebrows and returned his gaze to the curtains.

"Why are you so surprised that I can get an erection?" Sherlock asked. His voice was simply curious, but it didn't stop John's blush from deepening.

"Nothing. I'm not."

"Yeah, you are," Sherlock replied. "It's a natural reaction. I may consider sex to be a waste of time but the release accomplished with masturbation and ejaculation-" here John closed his eyes to fend off waves of embarrassment- "is beneficial every now and then."

"Yeah," John agreed, shifting position. "Great." He squirmed a bit more, trying to get comfortable, and wondered if it was worth it to just go to the bathroom and have it off himself. Jerking off in a strip club bathroom wasn't really classy. He sighed and flickered his gaze to Vanilla Spice. Maybe he should have let Sherlock let her finish... unfortunately, that would have been Sherlock being a voyeuristic clot, which John doubted that he would have appreciated. It was a lose-lose.

"I'm not an idiot," Sherlock said. His tone made John look back and he had his head turned away from him.

"Huh?"

"I may be a virgin, but that doesn't mean I don't know the motions."

"... Okay? I didn't say you didn't," John said, eyebrows furrowing as he stared at his flatmate.

"I have no particular inclination towards women or men, or sex in general. I am quite content with mastur-"

"Would you stop saying that word?" John hissed.

Sherlock sighed. "What? Would you prefer me saying that I quite enjoy jerking off by myself?"

"No! Why are you telling me this? I don't care!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock smirked. "I figured if there was any way to, ah, what is it... 'turn you off', then it was by talking about my own sexual experience."

"Well, it's working," John griped. "Am I supposed to say thank you? I didn't want to get turned off."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Did you want me to turn you on?"

"Absolutely not."

"Positive? One of the bartenders told me that with 'legs like that, you could pull off a pair of black leathers, no joke'," Sherlock said. He was grinning, laughing at the memory.

"Sorry, I don't fancy seeing you in leather trousers," John said, sarcastically. "The thought's actually disturbing."

Sherlock actually laughed at that. His laugh turned to a look of full-scale panic when the a vibrating noise cut through the beat of the music in the main room. Sherlock hurriedly grabbed at his pocket and tore his mobile from it, not quite getting his cool back to not hold the thing at an arm's length.

John couldn't help but laugh. "Over-stimulation?"

Nostrils flaring, Sherlock busied himself with squinting at the screen of his mobile and then typing out a response. "Lestrade's going to be late. I'm telling him we're leaving the suspect here. Let's go." Without commenting about the case or the suspect or the fact that he was very visibly tenting his trousers, Sherlock got to his feet as gracefully as a man in his position could and shoved the curtain aside, stepping out into the main room without another word.

John didn't know if he wanted to laugh or sigh, but ended up following after the consulting detective without much doubt that they were going home... immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> ^^ I know nothing about strip clubs. Nonetheless, I wanted to put Sherlock into an 'awkward' situation to prove that he's literally only human. Human reactions and all that, even if not necessarily a human desire. In other words, Sherlock can get turned on even if he's 'married to his Work'. Don't mind me. I love Sherlock's humanity, even if it presents itself in weird scenarios presented by a case. :p


End file.
